


An Excessively White Christmas

by thedoctorwatcheshetalia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorwatcheshetalia/pseuds/thedoctorwatcheshetalia
Summary: Alfred wants their first Christmas as a couple to be the best anyone's ever seen. Unfortunately for him, things don't go quite as planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harin91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/gifts).



It was final. It was law, for Alfred had decreed it, and that meant the alpha would do anything in his power, _everything_ in his power to make it so.

This Christmas simply had to be the best Christmas of them all.

And that was no mere statement, no, it was a promise. Their first Christmas as a mated, married couple, and Alfred simply _had_ to have it perfect. So glorious indeed, that it would serve as a sort of proof to every nosy old woman, every snide comment from their parents, every whisper of gossip that had said their relationship wouldn’t make it all these months. 

A sort of trophy for themselves, that yes, they were here now. Past the fights, past the bickering, past every single time Alfred had taken Arthur to McDonald’s for Valentine’s Day, and past the fact that yes, he’d proposed there as well thinking it to be ironic, while Arthur stood there both flustered and raging mad all at once because _who proposed at McDonald’s?_

This Christmas had to be the greatest.

That meant lights brighter than the neighbors’, music louder than the family’s down the street, sweaters uglier than the ones _that mediocre couple everyone in the neighborhood thought was_ so _cute when Arthur and Alfred were_ obviously _so much cuter_ wore.

And though watching Alfred get so worked up over proving someone wrong was so _in character,_ so competitive, cutthroat, _everything_ that made him so damn irresistible to Arthur- it was also a bit concerning to see just how much the motive clouded over the overall meaning of the holiday season.

Arthur watched as Alfred fussed over the tree.

“I should’ve bought the lights with the different colors, it’s not blinky enough.”

“They seem perfectly fine to me, dear.” Was Arthur’s response- and he wasn’t lying. They were fine. More than fine, actually, with a light that bathed their dim surroundings in a warm, yellow glow, framing his mate like a halo, casting dancing, angelic shadows across his tanned skin.  

He was gorgeous. Even as those lips turned down in a frown, brows drawn together in anger, “I’m not going for _fine,_ Arthur, it’s gotta be-”

“I know.” Arthur pursed his lips. “Perfect.”

Alfred heaved out a sigh as he took a step back, the hands on his hips falling limp to his sides, looking positively defeated, worn.

And Arthur came to the rescue, slipping away from his place on the couch, coming to wrap his arms around his lover’s hunched frame. “And it _does_ look perfect, okay? So relax.”

A grunt. 

“Come on, relax with me, love.” 

Alfred didn’t seem convinced, but he put on a good show- grinning into Arthur’s hair as he was swept away, socks sliding against the wooden floor. A slow, languid dance to a holiday song Arthur sang _incredibly_ off-key. It was something he found himself initiating often leading up to the big day, to steal his mate back from the pointless decoration he’d buried himself into.  

Alfred’s idea of a perfect Christmas was a bit different from his.

Arthur would’ve been plenty satisfied just to wake up next to his husband. Morning light streaming through the gaps in the curtains, the alpha attempting to steal stale kisses to which Arthur would respond with a lazy shove- rolling out of bed after what seemed like centuries to be greeted by a big, glittering tree with exactly two presents beneath. Yes, that would make it a jolly Christmas indeed. Just the sight of that tousled, blond hair- all knotted and swept this way and that- and those chapped, winter-worn lips Arthur would soften with a kiss under the mistletoe.

The clink of their rings against mugs of cocoa _far_ too sweet to finish…

The Christmas of Arthur’s dreams.

But Alfred had his sights set, and oh _lord_ was he stubborn. After a few blissful minutes had gone by of that mindless, giddy dancing, Arthur feeling so perfectly warm encircled in those loving arms- Alfred had pulled away to rearrange the ornaments he claimed were crooked, and Arthur watched, arms folded, waiting for Alfred to get some sort of hint that it had gone _too_ far, seeing as his mate was currently jealous of a tree.

And when it didn’t happen, he groaned, padding off to the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea and brood silently, trying not to let his lemony scent of jealousy wash over the strategically placed gingerbread-scented candles lest Alfred fuss about that as well.

* * *

They woke to snow.

It wasn’t all that unusual. Their region had been expecting a white Christmas, and Alfred had been rooting for it as well. Arthur woke to find his mate by the window, throwing laughs over his shoulder, parting the curtain so wide Arthur was practically slapped with that white, _white_ morning light.

And he almost forgot Alfred’s obsession. He rolled right off the bed and walked, a bit disoriented, a bit drowsy, right into those open arms, and let Alfred hold him, kiss his hair, tell him _everything was going to be perfect now._

Well, until it got a bit _too_ perfect.

“It’s snowing an awful lot, don’t you think, babe?”

Arthur shrugged, peering into the cupboard in search of something to nibble with his tea. “I suppose.”

“We still have to go shopping for the party food today,” Alfred mumbled, spoon swishing in his soggy cereal. He sat back against the dining room chair, pulling his legs up against his chest. “Do you think we can go real quick, before it gets heavier?”

Arthur paused, letting the quiet sink in, ears tuned to what seemed like howling outside. “I wouldn’t risk it now, Alfred, it seems dangerous.”

He wilted at the sight of Alfred peering back into his bowl almost dejectedly, teeth chewing on his lip.

“But worst comes to worst, we can make a quick trip an hour before the party, alright, love?”

“If the snow dies down by then,” Alfred said with a chuckle, to which Arthur responded with a purse of his lips.

“I’m sure it will, it’s just snow.”

It didn’t.

Their phones buzzed to a blizzard warning, lights flickering, snow hammering down relentlessly against their windows. Arthur watched with a face half-buried in his mug of tea, because Alfred had forgotten to watch the cups, and because he also enjoyed the feeling of vapor curling around his lips- and Alfred curled into the couch, lips twisted into a frown.

There certainly wasn’t going to be a party anytime today, that was for sure.

Unless of course, Alfred expected the guests to shovel through the streets into the house and shovel their way back when the party was over. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“You know I hate parties, anyway, Al,” He said, fingers peeling at the blanket cocoon his mate had currently pressed himself into. “I find this Christmas truly great now that we don’t have to entertain the neighbors.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Alfred replied, the sound muffled. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes because _yes,_ he was saying it to make the idiot feel better about something he shouldn’t have been feeling bad about in the first place, but also because he truly, genuinely, hated people. Hated having them over for holidays, with their little kids, knocking over the decor, tracking their dirty little feet into the carpet. _Existing._

Alfred was also considerably more social than he was, that was for sure, so he might not have understood the fact that a person _didn’t_ enjoy being suffocated by people every waking minute of their lives.

The alpha pouted, adding, “This is the worst.”

“Oh yeah, definitely is.” Arthur mused, placing his tea mug onto whatever surface he could find, crossing his arms as he peered down at the pitiful fluffy blanket caterpillar, his husband’s current state. “No friends, no random people that aren’t even part of our lives. I’m afraid you’re stuck with silly old me for Christmas, ugh, your _mate._ Dreadfully sorry, this really is the worst, isn’t it?”

Alfred buried his smile in the couch, “Yeah.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just leave you to it, then-”

Alfred unfolded, practically absorbing Arthur into his arms, collapsing back onto the couch with a new addition to his blanket roll, and Arthur bit back a smile, maneuvering himself to turn flush against Alfred’s chest, ruffling that floppy hair as much as he was allowed to before he found himself tackled onto the floor.

Needless to say, they spilled the mug of tea. Arthur made Alfred clean it up as punishment for sulking around.

* * *

Christmas morning wasn’t as… twinkling as he’d expected it.

It was plenty white, that was for sure.

Arthur woke to a dim room. Not quite as warm as he’d hoped, what with the heater they’d left at full blast last night. He found himself curling into his blanket, toes pressed against Alfred’s legs in an attempt to absorb some heat.

To which Alfred woke with a start, slapping at Arthur’s frozen feet. _“Dude!”_

“I’m sorry, it’s cold,” Arthur complained, and Alfred furrowed his brows, shrugging deeper into his blanket.

“Then go turn the heater back on.”

Arthur stared, then stared, and stared some more, hoping to convey the fact that it was _Christmas morning_ , a time for giving and charity, which meant that Alfred should get up and do it for him in the name of _love._ But Alfred remained adamant, squinting at him from the top edge of his blanket.

“Merry Christmas baby, but I’m not getting out of this bed just this yet.” 

Arthur growled, stepping out of the covers to switch on the light.

The room remained dim.

Oh dear.

“Alfred, the- um, the electricity doesn’t seem to be working.”

Alfred’s eyes snapped open and he practically scrambled out of bed, slipping on his glasses, fingers flicking at the light switches, tugging at the plugs, and nothing seemed to work. The room was dim, cold, and everything Alfred didn’t want it to be.

He ran off downstairs and Arthur lingered in bed a bit before following along with a scowl. Padding down the steps, turning the corner, “Alfred, what’re you-?”

“The lights aren’t working,” Alfred said, and Arthur paused, watching as Alfred knelt pitifully at the foot of the tree, pinching the bulb of a light between his thumb and a finger. “Christmas is ruined.”

Oh, how dramatic. Arthur rolled his eyes- careful to do out of Alfred’s sight lest he angered the alpha in his time of despair. Christmas was hardly ruined because of a power outage. Arthur wanted to say that the first Christmas hardly had flashing LED lights, but that would only come off as sarcastic, something that didn’t sit well with Alfred when he was pouting and sighing like he was now.

So he straightened up, shuffling around the drawers for a box of matches, fetching a newspaper roll, at the sight of which Alfred got up from his pity-fest and joined Arthur in preparing their fireplace. Let there be light.

Of course, Arthur had never lit an actual fireplace before, but Alfred seemed to have a lot of practice. His family was the more traditional type, whereas the Kirklands tended to opt for the electrical versions of things. This was in his favor, seeing as letting Alfred seem in control was possibly the best way to put a spike in that cloudy mood of his.

Arthur watched as Alfred lit a few rolls of paper, tossing them into the hearth, laden with chunky logs and smaller twigs. The crackle was melodious, and _oh,_ so was the heat, Arthur found himself crawling towards it, basking in the glow, letting the fire warm his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

And Alfred watched Arthur curl up by the fire with a small smile, “Never seen a fireplace before?”

“Do you think we could make hot chocolate over this?” Was Arthur’s response, and Alfred had replied with a no, but they’d freshened up, cracked their knuckles and tried anyway.

It ended up with a thoroughly burnt mug and an Alfred gasping _I told you so_ -s between peals of laughter- not the kind he’d fake around friends, with the rich, deep rumble in his chest, but the rather high-pitched laugh he claimed was so _embarrassing_ , and Arthur would tell him time and time again that a noise didn’t define just how macho one could be.

They drank it anyway, though the milk was cold and the hot chocolate powder collected at the bottom. Alfred seemed to like it that way- and he could’ve full well just put on an act, but Arthur liked the act, so it didn’t matter.

He licked his lips free of milk, “I wonder what Santa got us this year.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, collecting Arthur’s cup to toss it into the kitchen sink. No doubt he’d leave it for Arthur to wash later on, but it was Christmas so Arthur decided not to bring up that argument.“Guess we better find out, Artie.”

He made his way to the tree and Arthur found himself biting back a smile. 

Two presents. Precisely two presents wrapped beneath, and It was just how he’d wanted it.

Alfred scooped one right into his hands and slid the other one in beside his mate, “This one’s for you, babe.”

He punctuated it with a wink and Arthur felt a knot in his gut. Arthur’s present was pale in comparison to the towering gift before him. He peeled at the paper gingerly, letting it crumple to the side before parting it, _tearing_ it, almost, to reveal-

“A guitar!” Arthur gasped, letting his fingers smooth over the branded logo scrawled across the case. He didn’t dare open it, not yet, not _now,_ not when what he’d gotten Alfred was so small.

Expensive, though, but small nevertheless.

“You like it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said with an affirmative grin, to which Alfred grinned as well, hands tearing at his own gift.

Arthur held his breath.

“An autographed, limited-edition Captain America comic book- _babe!”_

It seemed Alfred liked his as well.

A nice snog by the fireplace was in order Arthur thought, no, _expected,_ even parted his lips for, but a loud shudder from outside had shut the mood right down. Alfred turned his head, a crease between his brows, almost longing.

“I wanted to take you ice-skating today, you know?”

“We can fill the tub and wait a while, we’d have all the ice we’d need,” Arthur said with a snort, to which Alfred shot him a glare.

“I wanted to make today perfect, Arthur, it’s-” Alfred paused, he sighed, watching as Arthur slid away from his grasp, “It’s not perfect.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He made his way to the kitchen, shuffling through the drawers, sighing out in puffs of condensed exhale in the cold, _cold_ air. And then he came back, standing above a stupid Alfred who’d gone back to sulking as if he’d destroyed the idea of Christmas for the two of them. As if Arthur needed lights and bruising his arse on ice to make Christmas perfect.

“All I want for Christmas is a fire, food, preferably oxygen, and you.”

Alfred pouted, “A functioning tree and some mistletoe would’ve made it a hell of a lot better.”

Ah. That’s when Arthur let his lips quirk up in a slight smile, “The tree’s got ornaments, and we’ve got mistletoe-”

“No, we don’t. I was going to buy some with the party food.”

“Yes.” Arthur corrected, jutting out his arm, letting the sprig between his fingers hover over Alfred’s head, “We do.”

“That’s a basil leaf.”

“It’s mistletoe, pucker up.”

“That’s a basil leaf, and it’s kinda shriveled too.”

“Pucker up.” Arthur pressed with a quirk of his finger, beckoning for Alfred to join him on his feet. Alfred was hesitant to do so, but with a roll of his blue eyes, he eventually did.

“There’s nothing like a low-budget holiday decor.”

“Mistletoe means kiss.” Arthur let the leaf fall to the floor, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s neck. “Basil means tongue.”

He’d gotten his snog in the end, yes, but only after Alfred had laughed at him for a good five minutes. It was all good, Arthur had his revenge with a few choice bites here and there, and Alfred had retaliated with a pinch to his bum, to which Arthur practically hunted the idiot down when he ran, throwing pillows at every corner Alfred turned around the couch.

And since it was practically freezing inside, they’d agreed on a truce, huddling up beside the dying fire, wrapped in a single large blanket because Alfred had decided to sleep in his underwear last night and he was far too lazy to climb up and get himself a pair of pajama pants.

“Merry Christmas, Artie.” 

“Merry Christmas, yourself,” he replied, to a rather satisfied-looking Alfred. A real treat compared to his whining and grumbling from before. 

He let Alfred kiss his cheek, and kissed him right back. If that wasn’t the start of the best Christmas ever, Arthur didn’t know what was.

**Author's Note:**

> A secret Santa gift for brightly-painted-canvas on Tumblr. The prompt was: fluffy, funny and Christmas-y.


End file.
